True Story: Ralph

[Editor's Note: Jack Grisham is an author, hypnotherapist, T.S.O.L. front man and all-around troublemaker. This column, True Story, may or may not be factual, with characters who may or may not be real.]

His name was Ralph, and he was locked out again.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" he thought. He could see them inside; a warm glow from the fireplace lit their faces as they sat on the couch. "Bunch of spoiled brats: 'Give me a doggie, Mommy. Please, get me a dog.'"

That's why he'd never let his own offspring have pets--he wasn't about to spend his off-hours picking up dog shit. He jumped on the backyard table, and sent it crashing to the ground. "That'll do it."

The porch light came on, and the father poked his head through the door. "Goddamn it, Linda. The fucking dog just destroyed your succulents."

Ralph jumped over the broken ceramic pots and ran for the warmth of the house. The father threw a kick in his direction.

"Yeah, that's right: You'll clean it up." The mother was the perfect codependent. Ralph loved it when she shared the blame. And she was cute, too--a lot cuter than that bitch he'd married.
"I wonder where she is now," he thought.

"Hooked up with some fucking shaman, probably, the two of them eating each other's asses in some patchouli-soaked yurt. Fuck her. It's her fault I'm like this. 'I need to seek.' That's what she said. 'I need to be free to go on a spiritual quest--and I want you to come with me, but if not, I'll go it alone.' Fucking blackmail, but I went--love will do that to you. She took me through Jesus, Buddha, Mohamed. We did it all. And then, right in the middle of that Hindu bullshit, I die and get reincarnated as a dog--a bullshit, sissy-assed labradoodle."